


Wednesday’s Child

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-29
Updated: 2004-10-29
Packaged: 2018-10-06 13:59:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10336184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: SPOILERS : Gamekeeper, Crystal Skull, Fallen, HomecomingSUMMARY : When your whole world breaks apart, it’s a good time to remember you have wings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

Stargate SG-1 FanFiction - Wednesday’s Child

September 1972

Marjie pasted on her very brightest Braniff Airlines smile and prepared to dazzle the next customer in line with excellent service. Only there wasn’t anyone.

Blink.

Well, good. So much for women’s lib. These damn pumps were killing her, and if she had to endure one more sweaty old man leering - wait a second, what had she just seen? She turned back to the non-existent line.

Blink. Blink blink.

He was two big blue eyes and the top of a little dark blond head - nothing else showed above the counter. Seven or eight, if she had to guess, and no adult in sight. Great. The standard Braniff speech probably wasn’t going to cut it this time. "Well, hello there," she sighed. It wasn’t perky, but it was genuine. One thing she’d learned from her brother’s demon spawn was that there was no point pretending to like them when you didn’t: the little boogers were relentless if they got a whiff of phoniness.

The eyes glanced around and down, and a small hand appeared beside them and pushed several items across the counter at her. Marjie looked at them in silence: a boarding pass for the next flight to Chicago, a well-stamped passport, and a note from, presumably, the parents... she pushed a button to summon a supervisor.

She turned back to give the boy a reassuring smile - after all, it wasn’t the little monster’s fault if his parents shipped him all over the world like human cargo - and saw he’d clambered up onto something so that his elbows were resting on the counter. Now everything from his chest up was visible. Actually... he was kind of a cute little monster. Shaggy sun-streaked hair, tanned skin, a little beige hooded sweatshirt... that was all typical enough. But she’d never seen such a serious face on anything under thirty. His little forehead was all scrunched up, and his eyes looked like he was trying to brace himself from flinching.

He looked down at the boarding pass and back up at her, the frown becoming even deeper.

"Oh," she managed, startled to realize she knew what he was wondering, "I just have to let my boss approve, since you’re traveling alone." 

He nodded, the frown easing somewhat.

Weird - usually kids were indecipherable to her. But this was like a tiny adult in a child’s body. Suddenly she realized there was something off about this whole encounter - besides the obvious. "Have you traveled on your own before?"

He nodded again, glancing around the terminal.

"Do you ever get scared?"

He shook his head. He was looking everywhere, like he couldn’t observe enough of his surroundings.

"Well, I would," she continued. "By the way, my name’s Marjorie. Or Marjie."

He looked at her, still frowning. But for the first time, he spoke: "I’m pleased to meet you, Marjorie."

Wow. Nothing child-like about that. His voice was a bit husky, his tone relaxed, and frankly she’d met child actors with less composure. On an impulse, she reached out a hand. He took it automatically and they shook, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Likewise. So, what’s your name?"

He blinked twice at her, then at the boarding pass, as if to say she should have read it for herself. "Oh, I’m, uh... I’m Daniel Jackson."

Okay, where was Allen Funt? There was no way this was a real kid. He oozed the sort of confidence she wished she had. "Are you from New York, Daniel?"

"I’m kind of from all over," he replied easily.

Next he’d be asking her what she was doing after work. "Yeah, I see your passport has a lot of stamps. Are you-"

"What’ve we got here, Miss Simpson?" came a voice from beside her.

Marjie turned to see her supervisor, and so did Daniel. "Mr. Potter, this is Daniel. He has a note here from his parents-"

He took the documents from the counter and looked them over quickly. "Everything seems to be in order. Where’s your luggage, young man?" The last sentence came out much too harsh: Potter was retired Air Force, and sometimes he liked to remind everyone of it by making children and old ladies wet their pants.

But Daniel just looked at him calmly. "I don’t have any. All my stuff’s at home already."

That set off every last warning bell in Marjie’s head, though she couldn’t say exactly why. But Mr. Potter just smiled at Daniel. "Have a safe flight, then."

"Thank you," Daniel replied to his retreating back.

Marjie kept an eye on Daniel until his flight arrived. It probably shouldn’t have surprised her that he sat quietly reading magazines for the duration of the wait. She notified one of the stewardesses on his flight to watch out for him, and saw that he got on board. Again, no problem. He had obviously done this before.

It was several hours later, just as she was grabbing her coat and getting ready to leave for the day, that Mr. Potter stepped into the breakroom, looking ashen.

"What?" she asked, immediately knowing the answer had something to do with Daniel.

"I just got a call," he said quietly, "from a gentleman at the Museum of Art."

Chicago was blue. Of course it wasn’t _really_ blue, it just seemed to have a blue tone. Cairo was gold, London was grey, New York was citron, and Chicago was blue. Daniel wondered if they looked that way to other people. What caused that, anyway? His dad probably knew. Of course, getting him to answer was a different story. He’d said more than once it would take more hours than there are in the day to answer all the questions Daniel came up with. His mom didn’t even have time to answer them all.

So he’d ask during dinner, when everyone was in a good mood. Home in time for dinner - that was a plan. He wasn’t quite sure where home was now. They had been living in Chicago for a while, before the dig, but before that, they’d been in London, Lisbon, Caracas, New York, the Keys and Los Angeles. And that was just in the past two years. He wasn’t sure where all they’d been before that, but his mom had always said home was wherever your family was.

Nick lived in Los Angeles when he wasn’t on digs. The college there paid him to study that skull he’d found, but Daniel’s mom didn’t think they would let Nick stay there forever unless he produced some results. Daniel wondered what kind of results Nick needed, and if maybe he could help him find them. That ought to make up for dropping in on him unexpectedly.

"Where are your parents, son?" came a pleasant, concerned voice at his side.

Daniel turned back from the plane window he’d been staring out of as they took off from Chicago. "They’re not with me this trip."

The man who’d spoken and the woman at his side were both a little younger than Daniel’s parents. The woman had that worried expression adults were always giving him.

"You’re flying by yourself?" He sounded upset.

"Yes," Daniel said, a little defiantly. "I’ve done it before. A five year old could understand it."

They exchanged a glance, and the woman spoke. "Are you meeting your parents in L.A.?"

Sure, why not? "Yes."

"Well, where have you been?" the man asked.

Daniel blinked at him. "The airport."

"No, I mean, where have you been staying while you were away from home?"

"Oh," Daniel murmured. Good question. "With my grandparents."

"Your grandparents?"

"Yeah, they live in New York," he said confidently, convinced he had a good one. "They have a farm upstate with horses. I stayed there for the summer."

They left him alone after that. They seemed like nice enough people, but he just didn’t want anybody worrying about him. He wanted to be by himself and look out the plane window. _Aw, man, I should’ve brought some books._ Why hadn’t he thought to grab some books when he’d gone back for the boarding passes and the passport and the note? They hadn’t had many at the hotel, but they’d had a few. Most of their archeology stuff was at the... at the...

He curled his hand and dug his fingernails into his palm, and kept his face perfectly calm. No one would see, no one would know anything was wrong, and eventually the panic would disappear. It had worked when he got lost in that cave that time. It would work now.

Jim Bonner hated Las Vegas at the best of times. It was tacky beyond belief, noisy, and attracted the worst sorts of tourists. And that wasn’t even touching on the issue of the mob running the whole rat trap. He was so glad he wasn’t a vice cop.

"Hi, welcome to Continental Airlines," said the woman behind the counter. "May I see your boarding pass?"

Jim flashed his badge instead.

"Oh, you’re the U.S. Marshal," she said grimly. "We were told to expect you."

"Well, that’s a warm welcome," he quipped.

She looked startled, then smiled. "Sorry, I just can’t help but worry."

"Well, there’s nothing to worry about," he said easily, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "I just need one favor from you." He showed her the photo the FBI had provided. "This boy’s name is Daniel Jackson, and he’s going to be traveling alone. I need you to put him in a window seat and put me next to him, on the aisle."

She gave him a strange look, and he gave her his best I-know-but-trust-me look. She turned to her seating chart. "Okay, here we go. No problem."

"Thank you very much," Jim said warmly, looking at her nametag. "Have you, by any chance, ever done any acting, Gina?"

She blushed. "A little in college. Why?"

He smiled. "It may sound strange, but when the boy shows up, I want you to forget you ever talked to me. Just wipe it out of your mind."

She narrowed her eyes curiously. "Okay...?"

"He’s a very smart boy, Gina," Jim said somberly. "I don’t want him to pick up on the fact that I’m looking for him."

She frowned. "What did he do?"

"He didn’t do anything," he assured her. "I just need to get a hold of him before he gets himself hurt."

She nodded. "Okay, I’ll do my best."

"I know you will," he smiled, and walked away.

"Well, you have a nice flight," she called after him.

He gave her a tight smile. Nice flight, hell. If he got to sleep tonight at all, he’d count himself lucky.

He looked around the terminal and took an empty seat. He picked up a copy of _Life_ to pretend to read.

He saw Daniel Jackson the instant he came in. The boy walked straight to the ticket counter and gave Gina his documentation as if he’d done this a hundred times before. She looked completely bored as she checked the papers, called a supervisor, and turned away to do other things while they waited. _Perfect, Gina, thank you._ Daniel just stood there patiently, looking all around the lobby, watching everyone and everything like he expected to be quizzed on it later.

Jim focused on his magazine and played the role of a man waiting on a plane. Gina may have thought him crazy, and so had a lot of his men when they first started working with him - until they’d gotten a reputation for being the best field office in the district at bringing in eerily intelligent fugitives. The minute he’d heard he was dealing with the child of two multi-PhD archeologists, he’d asked for an IQ profile on the boy. Apparently the family had traveled in and out of the U.S. enough times to trigger a cursory FBI file, because that agency had immediately provided not a guess but an actual test result: young Daniel scored somewhere in the 180’s.

Which made this whole god-forsaken situation that much worse.

Boarding ticket in hand, Daniel took a seat across from Jim and picked up a copy of _Vogue_ someone had left behind. Watching surreptitiously, Jim observed him flipping through the pages with an expression of growing bemusement and couldn’t help but smile. The character he was playing - Jim waiting on a plane with no particular business - had an impulse, and he decided to act on it. He found a _National Geographic_ on the table next to him and leaned over to hand it to Daniel.

The boy blinked at him in surprise, then took in the magazine. "Oh, thanks," he said, dropping the _Vogue_ and burrowing into the _National Geographic_ with the speed of a mole being chased below ground.

"You’re welcome," Jim replied, but Daniel didn’t hear at all. So far, so good. But he felt a tightness in his chest.

On the plane, Daniel turned to face the window and shut out the rest of the world. Jim was no child psychologist, but he’d seen this before. A few years ago, he’d been driving with his sons, then seven and nine, when a tractor trailer broadsided them at a four-way stop. Fortunately, no one had been seriously hurt, but Jim had been unconscious for a while, and the boys hadn’t known if he was alive or dead. Gary had cried for a few days and gotten over it, but James had given every appearance of nothing having happened. Until the next time they’d driven down that road.

"You want a Coke?" he asked Daniel.

The boy turned slowly to look over his shoulder at him. "What?"

"I’m going to get a Coke," Jim replied. "You want one?"

"Yes, please," Daniel said, and turned back to the window.

Jim signaled a stewardess and turned back to Daniel. "You’re blocking my view, you know."

Daniel sat back in his seat as if he’d been reprimanded. "Sorry."

He smiled. "It’s okay. You know, we’re probably going to get some turbulence when we get over the Rockies. Always do if you travel during the day."

Daniel frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah. Why during the day?"

"Yes, sir?" came the stewardess’ bright voice beside him.

"Two Cokes, please," he said.

"Yes, sir," she repeated, and left again.

Jim turned back to Daniel. "The heat from the sun mixes up layers of air in the atmosphere, and that makes air pockets. Then by night it cools off, so no turbulence."

"What if it doesn’t cool off?"

"This is the desert. It always cools off at night."

Daniel wrinkled his nose. "This isn’t a real desert."

"Yeah? What do you know?"

"Have you ever been to Africa?" Daniel challenged. "Egypt. Now _that’s_ a real desert."

"I’ll take your word," Jim replied. "Never been there."

"It gets so hot during the day sometimes you just have to go somewhere in the shade and take a nap. You do _not_ want to get caught outside, or you’ll end up with heatstroke. Even the camels have to rest. And you have to drink little sips of water even when you’re so thirsty you feel like you’ve got dust on the inside of your guts because it’ll give you cramps if you drink it too fast." The inquisitive eyes turned back to him, apparently awaiting a response now that the mouth was finally done.

"Wow," Jim managed inadequately. "How’d you learn all that?"

"From going on digs with my parents," he said.

Not a trace of anything amiss. Jim felt a chill. "Digs?" he repeated easily. "What’s that?"

"Archeological digs," Daniel clarified. He looked like he was about to say more, but turned to look out the window instead.

"Your parents are archeologists?"

Slight hesitation. "Uh-huh."

"Dang," Jim said admiringly. "My dad was a cop. I thought that was pretty exciting stuff, but it turned out a lot of it was just paperwork and really routine stuff. Is archeology as exciting as it sounds?"

"Yeah, I think so," Daniel turned back to him. "But it’s tedious, too. You have to log everything, and it takes _forever_ to dig out these little tiny pieces of things, and then sometimes it’s just like some broken piece of pottery and you have to look at it under a microscope to determine what age it is, but then _sometimes_ that little piece will be the whole key to the whole dig, and finding out how old everything is and what settlement it’s from."

The kid was a run-on sentence made flesh. "So it’s exciting even when it’s not exciting?"

Daniel grinned. "You got it."

"Is that what you want to do when you grow up?"

"Probably," he said thoughtfully. "I may be a paleontologist, though. Or I may go work for the U.N. and be some kind of ambassador because I know a lot of languages and I’m good at keeping the peace... when people are arguing."

_  
_

When your parents are arguing? Were arguing? God, he hated this. More than anyone could imagine. 

"So what do you do?"

Jim blinked at him. "Oh, I’m a U.S. marshal."

"Really? I thought that was just in the Old West."

Jim grinned. "Nah, we’re still around."

"But what do you do?" he asked again. "I mean, the police handle local crimes, the FBI handles interstate and federal crimes, the military, the C.I.A. and military intelligence handle international crimes... so what do marshals do?"

"Well," Jim replied slowly, "we bring in fugitives, mostly. You know how the FBI and police have jurisdiction?"

"Yeah, it’s where they can’t poach in each other’s territory."

Jim choked back a laugh, turned it into a cough. "That’s right. We basically have jurisdiction everywhere. So we can work with the police or the FBI or whoever when they need somebody to cross county or state lines. And in some cases, we’re more specialized than the police, so we can do better investigating than they can."

"So you go after fugitives?" Daniel asked.

Jim nodded... then he caught the softening in the boy’s tone. He looked at Daniel, really studied him, and saw the resignation in the boy’s face. "Yeah. We do."

Daniel nodded and turned back to the window. 

Jim forced himself to give him a moment, even though he wanted to rush into reassurances and promises - not a damn one of which he could keep. He was here for one thing and one thing only, and when that was done... He couldn’t remember ever having an assignment he felt might be the start of a whole new hell, instead of the end of one.

"Am I in trouble?" Daniel asked softly, still looking out the window.

Jim studied his profile - the brows scrunched together, lips tight. "No. You didn’t do anything wrong."

Daniel spared him a defiant glance. "I’m surprised anybody noticed I was gone. How’d you track me down, anyway?"

"A man from the museum sent someone to the hotel to look for you, and found the ticket vouchers and your passport missing. He called the airport, and they called somebody, and eventually it came to me."

Daniel glared at the back of the seat in front of him.

"Here you go, sir." The stewardess reached over to pull out Daniel’s meal tray, but he beat her to it. She got Jim’s into place and carefully handed each of them their drinks.

After she was gone, Jim took a sip. "By the way, my name’s Jim."

"Easy to remember."

He took another sip. The anger was a good sign: if he was willing to share anything at all, Jim still had a chance to get through to him and... _and what? Say some magic words that will change his life? Like all the serial killers you bring in and you wonder, if someone had just reached them, just once, when they were still alive inside..._ "I get the impression people are used to you looking after yourself."

Straw still in his mouth, Daniel replied, "I’m pretty self-sufficient."

"Yeah, I can see that," Jim agreed. "Do you like being on your own?"

Daniel hesitated. He was probably used to people challenging his ability to take care of himself, rather than asking if he liked it. "I don’t mind it. Beats having somebody breathing down my neck all the time."

"You said it," Jim leaned back in his seat, forcing his body to relax. "Sometimes I wish people came with an off-switch, so you could have some company when you want it and then just get rid of them when you want time alone."

Daniel looked surprised at him - it wasn’t the sort of admission adults usually made to kids. 

"Are you mad at me?" Jim asked earnestly. "I wouldn’t blame you if you were."

Daniel shook his head. "You’re just doing your job. At least you didn’t try to lie to me." An edge of bitterness seeped into his voice.

"Well, I never believed in lying to kids. Even when the truth is worse."

"Me neither," Daniel agreed quietly. "Actually, I was kind of wondering what I was going to do when I ran out of ticket vouchers. And my allergy medication."

Jim’s stomach clenched. He knew what the survival instinct was capable of, and he knew it was even stronger in kids than adults, but this level of practicality under the circumstances...

"I think my grandfather will let me stay with him," Daniel remarked. "Maybe not permanently, but until they find somebody... else."

Jim stared at him - the guess was pretty much dead-on, at least to the best-case scenario he’d come up with. "Well, we haven’t been able to reach him yet, but we’ll keep trying. In the meantime I know a lady who works for the adoption system out in California. She’ll probably just end up taking you home to stay with her family until he gets back."

Daniel turned to him with a slight frown Jim read as anxiety.

"She’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met," he assured him.

The boy nodded. "That doesn’t sound too bad." He turned his gaze to his lap, his face suddenly very tense, arms rigid. It was hitting him.

What did you say to a child who trusted you enough to fall apart in front of you, after fighting it off for three days? _Nothing but the absolute truth. That I wish I could tell him everything’s going to be okay, but-_

"What’ll happen after that? Assuming Nick doesn’t want me."

"Well, Daniel," he said slowly, "the lady I told you about - Lena - will find a family for you to stay with. If she can’t find you a permanent place, she’ll find you something temporary."

"What if she can’t?"

"She always does."

"What if nobody wants me?"

"There’s always somebody."

"That’s what people always say."

"No, Daniel... I mean, that’s how the system’s set up. There’s always a family that can take you, at least for a while. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but..."

Daniel had frozen again. He wasn’t moving a muscle, not even an eyelid.

Jim leaned a little closer, and asked in a matter-of-fact tone, "Do you like California?"

He opened his mouth, then nodded. "It’s okay."

"Yeah? I think it would be a good place for you to grow up." Based on tax records, Daniel’s parents could be classified as residents of Illinois or New York. But if Jim could get Ballard to take the boy even temporarily, Daniel could become a ward of California, where Jim figured he would have a hope in hell of finding a permanent home. At the very least, California screened its foster parents for fitness better than most states.

Daniel scrunched up his mouth again. "I guess it’s as close to the desert as it gets in America."

"That’s true."

Daniel shifted in his seat. "So... what else is going to happen?"

"Um," Jim gave himself a second to slip into a child’s perspective... and was surprised to feel Daniel’s head against his arm. Automatically, he lifted his arm and put it around his shoulders, just as he would have with one of his boys. Daniel didn’t exactly snuggle, but he didn’t move away either. "I guess you’ll have to start going to regular school instead of getting your lessons the way you have been."

"I’ve been to a regular school before. I didn’t like it, but I can handle it."

"Yeah, you can," Jim smiled. "Other than that... you may end up moving around some. And that’s kind of hard because sometimes you feel like as soon as you get used to one place, you have to leave."

"I already feel that way."

Jim couldn’t decide if that was comforting or just even sadder. "Or you may end up in a really good place. It’s just hard to say right now." He decided not to mention the one other thing he knew was going to have to happen: Lena was going to get him to talk about his parents’ deaths, or send him to somebody who could. And that little brain was going to be running circles around all the adults that wanted to help it, knowing what to tell them to get them off his back. And if they didn’t catch the signs, if somebody didn’t keep him from turning in on himself...

"Tell you what," Jim said. "I’m going to give you my phone number, and I want you to memorize it. No matter where you go, or how long it’s been since you last talked to me, if you ever have a problem you can’t solve yourself, you can call me collect, okay? Think of it as an insurance policy, just in case you ever need somebody. Even if you just want to talk."

Daniel looked up at him. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome." Jim looked up quickly, feeling the start of tears coming on. He just had to keep thinking positive about this, and maybe Daniel would pick it up and find some reassurance in days to come. "Have you eaten much the past few days?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding sheepish.

Jim gave him a little conspiratorial squeeze. "What?"

"I’m, uh... I’m not allowed to eat at McDonald’s very often, so I kinda ate there over and over for the last few days. I’m sick of it now, though."

"What kind of food do you like?"

"Barbecue."

Jim tilted his head. "Barbecue in L.A.? Why don’t you just ask for French food in the middle of Chinatown?"

"’Cause I hate _escargot_."

"Oh, very funny," Jim said dryly, winning a chuckle from Daniel. "Actually, I do know a place. Barbecue in L.A. Pretty good, too. I’ll take you there when we get off the plane. Sound good?"

"Okay," Daniel murmured in a heavy voice.

A few seconds later, Jim could feel the change in his breathing as Daniel slept beside him.

"Jim?" Daniel’s eyes popped open as the sound of his own voice woke him up. He looked around the dimly lit room, trying to remember where he was. Not the tent, not the... other place that was always just out of reach...

"Not that again," came the dry grumble from across the room.

Jack's house? Yes, it was Jack's couch he was sprawled out on... and over there, pressing palms against freshly wakened eyes, sat Jim - Jack - in a chair. He must have fallen asleep shortly after Daniel had... after Sam and Teal’c had wandered off to other parts of the house to catch some shut-eye. That innocent seven o’clock dinner with SG-1, Hammond, Janet and Cassie had turned into a nine o’clock team-only game of Clue at Jack's house, an eleven o’clock viewing of whatever was on Nick at Nite, and finally a one a.m. infomercial spoofing session. "No," Daniel murmured. "Jim was a U.S. Marshal." _Oh, yeah, that’ll clear it right up for him._

"So was Wyatt Earp."

Daniel turned slightly onto his back so he could meet Jack’s eyes without straining his neck. "Did I ever tell you about the time when I was a kid and my, uh... I just hopped planes for a few days, flying all over the U.S. until-"

"You told me."

"Well, Jim was the one who finally caught up with me," he said, sudddenly feeling it was important Jack understand this.

Jack blinked, clearly not understanding.

Daniel pushed himself up to a sitting position. "He told me exactly what was going to happen to me. He didn’t try to hide anything from me. And he told me I could call him anytime I needed somebody, no matter when or why or how long it had been."

Jack nodded slowly. "Did you?"

"No, I never needed to," Daniel replied thoughtfully. "But just knowing he was there..."

Suddenly, Jack's eyes registered comprehension. And something else - a thought, or a memory.

_  
_

What?

Jack glanced away, ignoring the silent query. "Nothing like knowing there’s somebody who’s there for you no matter what."

Daniel nodded slowly. There was nothing else to say: his message had been received, and if Jack ever wanted to tell him what it had made him think of, he would. That’s how it had always been between them. Always that understanding. _This, I remember._

Jack smiled at him. It was almost a shy smile, certainly an unpracticed one, all too rare. "I think Carter staked out the guest room, but you could... no, better idea: we could roll her up in the bedsheets and toss her out on the front lawn."

Daniel almost choked on a laugh. "Jack!" 

"C’mon, she’ll look like a mummy."

"Were you always this evil? No, wait - I remember."

"What I was going to say was, you can take my bed and I’ll sleep in here."

"I’ll sleep in here. Where’d Teal’c go?"

"Hammock in the backyard."

At night? Oh, that was right - Colorado summer nights were warm and humid. Daniel cocked his head thoughtfully. "That sounds good."

"You gonna crawl in with him?"

"No, I’ll just take some blankets out on the deck. No! The roof! You have that roof!"

Jack shook his head, still faintly smiling. "I’ll go with you."

**The End**

  


* * *

  


> AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first Stargate fanfic, and it actually came to me   
>  as a dream. Note: most people will argue that this story must take place in   
> 1973, but I’ve always felt Daniel was born in 1964 because sixty-nine minus   
> four-and-a-half is sixty-four and a half, or summer of 1964. It doesn’t really   
> matter... just me being a headcase. :P

* * *

> © October 2004 The characters mentioned in this story are the   
>  property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other   
> characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the   
> names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide   
> Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and   
> Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an   
> infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other   
> characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the   
> author. 

* * *

  



End file.
